is
true you didn't cry, but surely my tears flowed before his eyes. So he
wants to shut you up at Lavriki. What! You won't be able to come out
even to see me! All men are unfeeling," she ended by saying, and shook
her head with an air of deep meaning.

"But at all events women can appreciate goodness and generosity," said
Varvara Pavlovna. Then, slowly sinking on her knees, she threw her
arms around Maria Dmitrievna's full waist, and hid her face in that
lady's lap. That hidden face wore a smile, but Maria Dmitrievna's
tears began to flow afresh.

As for Lavretsky, he returned home, shut himself up in his valet's
room, flung himself on the couch, and lay there till the morning.

XLII.

The next day was Sunday. Lavretsky was not awakened by the bells which
clanged for early Mass, for he had not closed his eyes all night; but
they reminded him of another Sunday, when he went to church at Liza's
request. He rose in haste. A certain secret voice told him that to-day
also he would see her there. He left the house quietly, telling the
servant to say to Varvara Pavlovna, who was still asleep, that he
would be back to dinner, and then, with long steps, he went where the
bell called him with its dreary uniformity of sound.

He arrived early; scarcely any one was yet in the church. A Reader was
reciting the Hours in the choir. His voice, sometimes interrupted by
a cough, sounded monotonously, rising and falling by turns. Lavretsky
placed himself at a little distance from the door. The worshippers
arrived, one after another, stopped, crossed themselves, and bowed in
all directions. Their steps resounded loudly through the silent and
almost empty space, and echoed along the vaulted roof. An infirm old
woman, wrapped in a threadbare hooded cloak, knelt by Lavretsky's side
and prayed fervently. Her toothless, yellow, wrinkled face expressed
intense emotion. Her bloodshot eyes gazed upwards, without moving, on
the holy figures displayed upon the iconostasis. Her bony hand kept
incessantly coming out from under her cloak, and making the sign of
the cross--with a slow and sweeping gesture, and with steady pressure
of the fingers on the forehead and the body. A peasant with a morose
and thickly-bearded face, his hair and clothes all in disorder,
came into the church, threw himself straight down on his knees, and
immediately began crossing and prostrating himself, throwing back his
head and shaking it after each inclination